Just this Once
by TheFredtoherGeorge
Summary: They weren't friends. She was fairly certain that they weren't even the same species. Just this once, though, she needed his help. Just this once, they would have to work together. Written for The Teachers' Lounge: Judgement Day, round one. Prompt: Frenemies.


"This is a terrible idea," she thought to herself. "We're not friends. Why would he ever help me?"

Not friends was an understatement. She was fairly certain that they weren't even the same species. His penchant for rudeness and affinity for drawing attention to himself were polar opposite to her reserved, quiet nature. She had no reason to ever want to speak to him so for the most part, she did her best to avoid him altogether. When they did happen to cross paths, he took great pleasure in tormenting her, throwing abuse and insults at her like so many horrid dungbombs and it was all she could do to avoid bursting into tears until she was well out of sight. On those inevitable occasions when he did catch her crying, it was as if he considered it a prize – a reward for his torture of her – and celebrated accordingly.

So why in Merlin's name was she lurking in this damp, dark corridor in the middle of the night, steeling herself to approach him, willingly putting herself in the path of humiliation and cruelty to ask him, of all people, for help?

It was all to do with a certain redhead.

As the image swam to the front of her mind, fury overtook her misgivings and she knew she had to go through with her plans. She couldn't do this on her own, and giving up simply wasn't an option. She was tired of being overlooked. She was tired of being left behind. She was sick and bloody tired of always being the one everyone came to with their problems without ever stopping for a moment to listen to hers.

Myrtle squared her shoulders, straightened her glasses, and floated through the wall.

"Peeves, I need your help," she stated firmly, before her conviction had had a chance to dissipate once again.

The poltergeist turned, peering at her through some sort of glass decanter that he had presumably been about to smash messily all over Professor Cornfoot's desk. The purplish liquid within distorted his already manic smile and made him look even more deranged than usual.

"Ickle weepy moany Myrtle wants help from Peevesies?" he chortled. "Does miserable Myrtle need more things to moan about? Peevesies can help with that!"

"No, I –" she began, but Peeves had already begun singing, dancing around with the vessel in his arms as if it were a partner.

 _Oh! I know a girl who's called Myrtle_

 _She hides her face just like a turtle_

' _Cause it's lumpy and bumpy_

 _Which makes her so grumpy_

 _That she cries all the day without end!_

Peeves ended his song with a flourish, flinging the glass jar up into the air, where it seemed to hang for a moment before falling with a wet, noisy crash down onto the table below.

"You're a git," Myrtle whimpered. Peeves answered by blowing a raspberry at her and cackling merrily.

She had almost turned to flee when Myrtle noticed a phial of potion sitting on a side table amongst a number of others. The phials all seemed identical but the one that caught her eye had two names inscribed on it in a delicate loopy script. "Rose Weasley" and "Scorpius Malfoy" seemed almost intertwined, the letters caressing one another as the potion within swirled and shined. She turned back to the poltergeist.

"I need you to help me make someone look foolish."

In the end, the hardest part of the whole ordeal was getting Peeves to stay still and listen long enough to her instructions that she could be sure he understood. She was unsurprised to find that he had the attention span of a mermaid.

"No, Peeves, you're not going to spill it all over the floor. That doesn't embarrass Rose, it just makes a mess. Just grab the bottle and follow me."

"If mopey, whiny Myrtle is so clever, why doesn't she do it herself?"

"I can't pick things up, halfwit! I'm a ghost. Why else would I be here with the likes of you?"

"Oooooh, grumpy!" Peeves giggled and whirled in the air.

It was all worthwhile, though, as she heard Rose Weasley's scream echoing through the plumbing pipes of Hogwarts on the following morning. She peeked into the Great Hall to watch as Rose, her hair floating ludicrously around her head, publicly accused her own brother of the mischief. She observed smugly from afar as the redhead stumbled through the rest of her day, encountering misfortune at every turn. Peeves even took it upon himself to torment the girl further, causing her bag to split open and spill her belongings down a flight of stairs. As she listened to the shouting in the hallway outside of Gryffindor tower that evening, Myrtle actually smiled with satisfaction.

"Mopey, moaning, miserable Myrtle isn't so melancholy now," Peeves cackled as he looped through the air above her. "Maybe we should call you Mischievous Myrtle, Mean Myrtle, Merciless Myrtle."

"Call me whatever you'd like, Peeves," the ghost shrugged. "Everyone always does anyway."

 _Clever Myrtle had a plan to make wee Rosie cry_

 _With Peevesies help, we made her yelp_

 _And watched her red hair fly_

"Did you call me clever?" Myrtle asked, startled. Compliments were exceedingly rare in her experience and mostly people only said nice things to try to make her stop crying. They didn't actually mean it. To be called clever without motive, by Peeves of all people, was so startling that Myrtle was caught off guard.

Peeves only cackled and swooshed away down the corridor, leaving Myrtle alone to make her way back to her toilet. It had been a very strange day, but satisfying. Having a common goal with the poltergeist was disorienting to say the least. Finding that, under the right circumstances, they could work together as a team, albeit noisy and slightly bumbling, was enough to turn her whole world upside down.

They still weren't friends. They still weren't even the same species. Yet it seemed that they could be, on occasion, allies.


End file.
